growing wings | Completed

28. days in february

there are 28 days in february,

      and 28 days when i fell in love with you,

and i write this letter in hopes of an answer,

      however i am sure i won't get one.

because you are not underneath my bed,

      confined in a box shut tightly with a lock,

and nor are you the ink that drips from my pen,

     and neither my aching hand.

there are 28 days in february,

      those of which are cold and bitter,

just like the dark coffee that seems to glare right back at me,

      and perhaps, i've learnt to love it like myself.

my anxiety chips at me while i write this,

      and i should probably at least actually send you one,

however, what would the expected result be?

      for you to suddenly fall in love with me?

there are 28 days in february,

      and there are 28 words scratched out, for mistakes make me what i am,

an imperfectly perfect human being,

      with a trembling heart for you.

so here i stand, a hand over my heart,

      and a whisper atop my lips, and the burning forest held in my eyes,

your name on the tip of tongue, tainting it love's desired color,

     i wait for your gold to tarnish me.

- days in february